


Divided they Fall

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2006-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor.  Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth.  Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: The Road taken

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

He pulled his mount to halt in the shade of an old, gnarled, holly tree and stiffly swung himself from the saddle of his steed.  Animal and man both had the demeanour of a long journey, the experience of their companions' death rested heavily on their shoulders.  They moved as ones who had not rested or eaten since the first light of day, who had clambered through the barren hills until their feet ached and their hearts grew heavy.  Now, as the sun slipped into the grey shadows of the west, they had come to the end of their strength, and the end of their journey for the day.    For a moment, as his booted feet struck the iron-hard floor, he allowed himself to feel the aches of his body. 

  With his camp prepared and his horse tended, he sat and ate his sparse meal in front of the fire.  He propped his chin on his bent knees, staring sightlessly into the flames.  As he did every night, he let his thoughts dwell on home. Home.  How he longed to see the white city once again, how he wished he could turn his back on the cursed wilderness and return to his family.  But home was league upon league away now and his task would only lead him further away.  <I have a task.> he thought.  He could not turn back now, not ever.  The thought of returning to Minas Tirith without Boromir was inconceivable.  He wrapped his dusty cloak around him and lay down, his head resting on his soft, leathery saddle.  Behind him, his horse chewed thoughtfully on the holly and above, the heavenly stars watched over.  Berethor son of Beregond, captain of the Tower Guard, closed his eyes and slept.


	2. Chapter 1: The cost of a Nights Lodging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

The Gondorian guided his horse beneath the swinging sign and into the inn yard. The animal plodded up to the door, his proud head drooping low, then came to a grateful stop. Berethor patted his neck and leaned forward to murmur, "Here's the warm stable I promised you, Ayreth. Pay no attention to the smell."  Ayreth lifted his head and twitched an ear at his rider. They had ridden long together, this man and steed. From the white city, over the realms of Rohan, through Dunland and Tharbad, along the Old South Road, through the ruined city and across the Greyflood they had come, and in that time had reached an understanding. If Berethor required him to sleep in a noisome byre such as this, then Ayreth would condescend to do so. Such was the loyalty he owed his rider.  Berethor swung down from the saddle and moved to Ayreth's head. The horse nudged him affectionately, and Berethor absently stroked the animal's velvet nose as he gazed around the inn yard. It was a humble place, with ramshackle stables on one side and what, from the sounds and odours emanating from it, seemed to be a combined pig-sty and compost heap on the other. The house itself was large and solid, with a lamp burning above the stout wooden door and yet more lights glimmering from behind many shuttered windows. The yard needed sweeping and the roof needed patching, but it was a mild night, and Berethor was not concerned with leaks.                                                                                                                                                                       "Ho! Innkeeper!" he shouted, as he pounded the door with his fist.  After a moment the door slowly creaked open.  There stood a small, broad man wearing a greasy leather apron and no welcome on his face.  His shrewd eyes, narrowed suspiciously as he took in the full appearance of Berethor, dwelling uncomfortably on his sword-hilt which glimmered beneath his cloak.  "Are you the innkeeper?"

"Aye."

"I need lodging for my horse and I."

"I'll need to see your coin first, traveller," the landlord replied.  Berethor glared down at the man.  He was not amused at being treated as a lowly thief by this man, no matter how ragged his cloak or dusty his boots.  His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, as he rose up to his full, commanding height.  The little man visibly, shrank under his cold, green gaze.  With a contemptuous snort, Berethor pushed past the man into the entrance way.  "Not until I see the state of your sheets."

His haughtiness seemed to reassure the landlord.  He shut the door and turned to the Gondorian.  Bowing slightly, he began to talk in a quick, shaky whine, "Indeed sir, indeed.  No offence meant, I'm sure.  Strange folk we get coming up the greenway of late.  A man can't be too careful.  Mistook you for one o' them rangers, I did.  Queer folk, they are and none too open with their purses, if you take my meaning…"

"I'll also need supper," Berethor said, cutting off the flow of excuses pouring from the landlord's mouth.  "And fodder for my horse.  Do you have someone I can trust to groom him properly?"

The landlord paused, still plainly labouring under the suspicion that this man had no money to command such services.  Berethor relented and tossed him a silver coin.  The little man's eyes lit up.  "Certainly sir," he replied eagerly.  "I'll have my son do it, a fair hand he has with horses.  Supper in the common-room, I'll have your bed prepared."  With that, he bowed again and waved his hand to the door on right.  Berethor entered the crowded room which was full of smoke and the hum of voices.  Even through the smoke, Berethor could smell bread and meat cooking.  His stomach grumbled promptly.  A pair of dwarves sat, huddled at the fire, their heads together in private conversation.  Farmers lounged on the benches that ran around the walls of the room, drinking from their wooden tankards and chatting amongst themselves.  The landlord urged him across the room to the large table that dominated the centre of the room.  He pulled up a stool and sat down.  A loud group of men occupied the other end of the table.  Berethor counted six of them dressed in rough, woollen clothing, all armed and banging their dishes on the table, shouting for faster service.  In the corner behind the fireplace sat a lone figure, cloaked in shadow.  Berethor caught a glimpse of long hair, framing a stern face and hooded eyes returning his gaze but the arrival of his meal distracted him.  He ate quickly, with all attention on his food.  The landlord brought him an empty tankard but Berethor barely acknowledged him, giving a quick, subtle nod and continuing to eat.  He had forgotten how good meat tasted when you did not have to kill and clean it yourself.  When he finished he pushed back his plate and waved the landlord over.  As he walked over, Berethor looked at the greasy, grinning man in approval, a full stomach mellowed him considerably.

"That was excellent.  Now, is there enough hot water for a bath?"

"Certainly sir, follow me."

   A half hour later, Berethor left the bathing chamber and with the worst of the dust brushed off his clothes, he felt positively benevolent.  He once again entered the common room and approached the bar after reclaiming his tankard from the table. "I'll have whatever's in that keg." The bar maid turned to pour him an ale.  He watched her for a moment and took another look around the room.  He noticed the group of ruffians at the table shooting him appraising glances, and muttering amongst themselves.  With a casual gesture, he thrust back his cloak and turned slightly, the fire reflecting off the length of his sword.  The voices then dropped to an inaudible murmur and he turned back to bar to receive his drink.  This rabble did not scare him in the slightest after all he had been through on his journey.  Besides that, he was a formidable warrior but this did remind him of the dangers he might face when he continued his path north to Rivendell, home of the half-Elven Lord Elrond.  He planned to find a seat near the fire and study the room at his leisure but his path was blocked by the grim-faced man that was staring at him earlier.  The man stood tall, even taller than Berethor himself, he looked down at him, his dark eyes glinted and with a smile he said, "Drink with me, man of the south."

Berethor could hardly contain his surprise. It took a great effort to meet the man's gaze without showing his discomfort.  He did not expect to be recognized outside of his own borders let alone this far adrift his country. "I drink alone," he answered coldly.

"No man prefers to drink alone," he returned back with taunting smile. "Come. I am weary of my own company."

Berethor was angered by the stranger's soft but condescended command and he reached for his sword.  But then also remembered why he was here. He needed information and what better source than a man who seemed to know more than he ought?

The anger drained from him as quickly as it came, his hand relaxed.  "I too, am weary of my own company but I am not accustomed to taking orders from haughty strangers."

The man gave a short dry laugh and preceded back to his private corner just behind the fire.  Berethor sat on the bench with his back to the wall and put his feet on the small stool in front.  The stranger resumed his seat in the shadows of the corner.  "I would warn you not to reach for your blade so readily, but as I wish to have a comfortable chat by the fire, and not a contest in arms, I will keep that advice to myself."

"You may give any advice you like," Berethor returned. "Whether I heed it, is my own affair."

The man sipped his beer, his eyes gleaming at Berethor over the rim of the tankard. "Do you ever heed counsel I wonder?"

"I have come here in search of counsel, for that matter."

"I wondered what could bring a soldier of Gondor up the Greenway."

Again, Berethor felt a flicker of anger and disquiet.  <How could this stranger know from whence I came?> he thought.  He shot the man a dark look and it was returned with the same taunting smile.  "Who are you, and how do you know I come from Gondor?"

"My name is my own," the man answered flatly. "I am a Ranger of the North.  I know many things hidden from lesser men." Berethor snorted in disgust and the man softly laughed.  He pointed to Berethor's gauntlets. "You bear the white tree of Minas Tirith. You carry yourself as a soldier would, as a captain of men."

Berethor relaxed but not return a smile. "And you carry yourself as a wanderer from the north."

"I am a ranger." He repeated. "We are what we are and it is not for you to know or understand."

Surprisingly, Berethor felt no resentment to these words.  He stared at the ranger, wondering what manner of man is beneath that hood and stern face.  A man used to his own commands, clearly. A man to be treated with caution and perhaps, respect.

"Do you have a name, soldier of Gondor?"

"Berethor."

"What counsel do you seek in these lands, Berethor?"

"I am searching for a place called Rivendell, home of Elrond half-Elven Lord.  In the south we have forgotten its secrets."

The ranger regarded him silently for a moment. "What business have you with Elrond?"

"My business is my own," Berethor replied in mockery of the rangers own words.

"Then I cannot guide you to Rivendell."

"You know where it is."

The ranger nodded. "I have walked the forests of that dale many times, listening to the music of the elves.  It is a place of beauty and power beyond your understanding."

"Understand it or not, I must go there." Berethor said harshly, growing impatient. "If you will not tell me where it lies I will find it myself."

"I can tell you but that does not mean you will find it."

"I will search, 'til my last breath, and die with the name of Rivendell on my lips."

The rangers face grew thoughtful. "I see no guile in you, Berethor.  No evil beyond that of any given man.  But the path is perilous.  The darkness awaits you out there, my friend."

"I am not afraid of darkness."

The ranger bowed his head in acceptance. "The place you seek is north and east of here. There are roads that can take you there but they are perilous.  I would strike north from here, off the greenway until you come to the river Hoarwell. Then simply follow it north and east until you come to The Last Bridge meeting the east/west road of Rhudaur.  At the end of that road, lies the realm you seek."

Berethor sat in silence for a moment, pondering the words of the ranger, then lifted his head to him. "Thank you. I am in your debt."

The ranger shrugged. "Why speak of debt when we fight the same enemy. And if you are fortunate enough to come across my captain, Strider within them borders, be sure to tell him that his brother-in-arms sends all duty and affection."


	3. Chapter 2: The dangers of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

   Berethor awoke before dawn.  He paid his tole, saddled his horse and was on the road before sunrise.  He began making his way down the greenway, thinking about the words of the ranger.  He held them less credible in the light of day now he had the time to think.  _The darkness awaits him_.  What was the man talking about.  <Folly,> he thought. <Presumptuous folly.>  

 He thought about making his way north, off the greenway.  Looking into the distance through the trees he saw nothing but hills. <I'll take my chances with the roads.> he thought.

  Meandering down the winding path, he felt fresh and awake.  He had not slept so well for a long time.  After many hours of riding, the road turned north and he felt luck on his side.  The forest walls on either side of the road raised creating rising walls of earth.  Ayreth softly shied nervously.  Berethor scanned the tops of the walls for trouble but his mind was elsewhere.  Then a muffled thump sounded from behind him.  Berethor jerked the reigns to halt his steed.  He twisted in his saddle to look behind him, his sword half drawn, when something struck him in the back of his head.  He was briefly aware of the sound of his horse and voices as he fell to the floor and slipped into darkness.

     He awoke, again to darkness and a fierce, insistent pain in his head.  Feet stumped and stamped around him and he heard harsh voices calling to each other.  A horse-Ayreth, he was sure-screamed in fury as he brought his hooves crashing down to the earth.  Berethor swallowed a groan, as the sound sliced straight through his battered head.  He felt as if his skull had been crushed to jelly as every sound, every vibration in the ground was sheer agony.

There were several men, to judge by the voices, struggling to control the enraged Ayreth who did not suffer them lightly.  Berethor still lay where he fell, his sword pinned under him and his cloak over his head.  The proud warrior in him wanted to leap up and take revenge on his foe, the wounded man in him, alone in this strange place wanted to just slip back out of consciousness.  But it was the battle hardened veteran in him that had won the day, so he neither moved nor spoke, strategically giving no sign at all that he lived until the unsuspecting thieves could give him an opening.  They finally succeeded in calming Ayreth, and began to unload the baggage of his back.   He concentrated on counting the separate voices and placing them in preparation for his attack.  Then he heard a voice rise above the rest.

"Search the body Aglun, get his purse."

Aglun gave a short, ugly laugh. "And get that sword of his in my gullet? Na, I'll not touch him."

Berethor heard steps coming closer.  "He's dead ye' fool.  I bashed him in the head meself."

Another voiced chimed in. "That's what ye' said about that dwarf, Gerd. And remember how _that_ ended!"

"Huh. Dwarves' heads are made of rocks.  This one went down like wheat before a scythe. He's naught but crows food.  Ye're fools and cowards, the lot o' ye." A thick hand closed around Berethor's arm and attempted to heave him on his back. Berethor rolled over, seeming to move in obedience while actually freeing his sword.

"Let's have that purse then, ye big lump o…"

His voice trailed off into an odd gurgle as Berethor spitted him on his sword.  The others thieves stood gawking at him, too frightened to move.  Berethor leapt his feet and kicked Gerd off the end of his blade. But he had bargained without his own injuries.  He went to raise his sword and staggered to the side to keep balance.  His nerveless muscles brought him to his knees and a churning sickness rose in him.  His eyes went dark but the cries of triumph helped him recall his sense of urgency.  He looked up to see two figures dart towards him with daggers in hand.  The soldier rose to the challenge.  He threw himself up and another deft thrust left the second body twitching on the floor.  He swung his blade at the other, slashing his arm.  The thief howled in pain and scuttled away, while the rest of them broke and fled.

  He lowered the tip of his sword to rest in the dirt and leaned heavily on the hilt.   His eyes closed in weariness and he sank to his knees again, gripping the sword with both hands and pressing his forehead on the cold steel.  There he stayed until Ayreth trotted up beside him. He looked up and smiled, "not crows food yet, my friend. It seems I have something in common with dwarves."

He looked down to the body of Gerd who lay dead on the ground, his face frozen in eternal amazement.  He recognized his face surprisingly, but could not recall why.  His rough, homespun, woollen clothes were dirty and stained.  Then he realized, the gang of ruffians at the inn.  A mirthless smile touched his lips, "I should have dealt with you earlier," he spoke to the corpse. "No matter, merely a headache."

Berethor climbed to his feet and sheathed his sword. He straightened his back and the sickness rushed back to his head. A black mist swam before his eyes and he staggered drunkenly, grabbing a handful of Ayreth's mane for balance. He then looped both arms around the horse's neck, burying his face in the smooth hind of the steed.  The horse nickered and Berethor choked a laugh, muffled in the horse's neck. "I don't think we shall go farther today."

When he could stand without swaying, he took a few cautious steps toward his baggage, Ayreth followed.  He began to reload the baggage back atop his horse, pausing in between movements to quell the sickness, occasionally leaning against the horses side.  Ayreth was happy to assist.

  Once everything of value was taken, only the two bodies lay in the road.  Berethor took Ayreth's dangling reigns, looped them round his hand and began down the path until they could get off the road.  He just wanted to lie down where he was and rest but his head wound did not render him senseless.  He knew he would probably never wake up if he slept exposed.  Driven by soldier's reflexes and not his own will, he started across a field to a small clump of trees.

  A few minutes walk and they were making their way through the branches until out of view from the road.  Berethor released all the gear including the saddle, suggesting to Ayreth to find something to fill his empty belly, for the man wanted nothing save a little drink from his water skin.  He lay on the ground and a dreamless sleep came quickly, as too did the relief from pain.


	4. Chaper 3: The White Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

Berethor travelled endlessly down the path which steered ever north he went.  Since his recovery from the head injury he suffered just over a week back, he travelled hastily through the day and until the darkest hours of night, setting out again as dawn broke.  As the sun began to retire beyond the western mountains and the skies grew darker, Berethor found himself following a river.  Assuming this was the river Hoarwell that the ranger had promised, he decided to ride on until he came to The Last Bridge, just west of Rivendell. From there he could take the eastern road at dawn.  He was weary with toil and sorrow and there was still many days ride ahead of him.  His horse gradually slowed to walking pace and Berethor could see Ayreth could not go much further without food and rest. He leaned forward, "I know I've stretched your strength, my friend," he softly whispered in the horse's ear. "Just a little further, boy."

It was dark and little could be seen now as trees began to merge into shadow.  The constant sounds of insects filled the air and a near distant stream could be heared trickling through the woodland on the other side of the river.  It was quite soothing to Berethors ears, complete silence only encouraged his mind to dwell on dark thoughts. Berethor leaned forward, squinting into he darkness, then smiled in relief as his tired eyes spotted what looked to be The Last Bridge. 

Berethor dismounted his horse and sleepily prepared for camp.  Lighting a small fire, he could now confirm this was the place he was meant to be.  The ranger did not lie, the just over the bridge lay a wide road running east and west.  He also noticed that the area wasn't greatly secluded and to camp here would be risky indeed and so he reluctantly packed up his things.  As much as he wanted to, he could not afford to take such risks. He gripped the reigns of Ayreth and looked around for cover. Suddenly, disturbing hiss flew the air, the wind blew out the fire and what could not be disguised as the night's chill filled his bones.  Then, Ayreth turned to madness, crying out and rearing up. Berethor fell to the ground and the horse fled almost trampling Berethor, who had no chance of stopping him. "Ayreth! Ayreth come back!" But the horse was gone, leaving Berethor alone.  Dark thoughts crossed his mind as he wondered what just happened and as he heard the gallop of his horse fade, he heard another horse approaching from the other direction, then, several horses approaching at speed.  He jumped to his feet and quickly drew his sword but by the time he looked up, a magnificent white steed bearing an elf had already stopped beside him.  "Quickly, you are in grave danger, come we must leave."  The tired, confused Gondorian immediately believed the she-elf, as crazed shrieks sounded from behind her. He took her hand and quickly mounted the horse, taking seat behind her.  "Nimonire, nimonire," as the words were spoken the horse took off at extraordinary pace.  Berethor clutched the women tightly in surprise of the horse,s acceleration and speed.  He could barely open his eyes in the wind. He turned his head to see four shadows slowly drawing near, he strained himself and managed to see what looked like riders in black atop black horses.  All four of the black riders closed in behind them, feint, fell voices came from the rider closest behind.  The air grew colder. "Nimonire," begged the she-elf and the horses pace somehow quickened.  A fair distance was now between the two parties as the horses raced along the east road of Rhudaur.   

Nearly an hour passed as high speed chase continued down the open road.  The elf did not look back, concentrating on the road ahead. She suddenly turned off the road and into a wood, thick with trees and bushes and with great skill, the elf flew through and between the trees losing little speed on the way.  Berethor turned back again to see the black riders still giving chase.  The white steed galloped back out of the wood and onto the open path leading to _the Loudwater Ford_ , the enchanted river and the border of Rivendell.  The black riders, in close pursuit began to slow down as they drew nearer the river but the white horse continued at speed and faded out of their sight.

   


"We are safe now Gondorian." The horse was galloping at a steady pace now, dawn was near and Berethor's eyelids grew heavy. "You can rest soon."

"Those riders… I've felt that power before." Indeed he had, fighting the dark forces on the land that borders his and that of Mordor. "Were they…"

"Nazgul? Yes, four of the nine patrolling the western lands in search of _The One Ring._ " 

"Isildur's Bane", Berethor whispered in statement.  He had know of Sauron's ring since he could remember.  He  had heard countless stoies of the great battle of Dagorlad, on the slopes of Mt. Doom, where the ring was cut from Sauron's hand.  The horse came to a halt and the she-elf turned to Berethor.  "I am Idrial, servant of Galadriel, Lady of Light."  Now being able to see his rescuer in daylight, Berethor gazed upon the she-elf.  She was fair and beautiful just as he had heard in stories as a boy.  Her long golden hair seemed as silk, her piercing blue eyes glimmered even in the pale daylight of early morning.  She got off the horse, Berethor following.  "I am Berethor, defender of the white tree, I owe you my life."  

Idrial smiled, "Well, Berethor, I am grateful for your thanks. But it is fate that smiles upon you, young warrior." She took the reigns of her horse and led Berethor up a large slope leading to an Elven outpost at the roots of the misty mountains.

  The outpost was quite impressive, in size and splendour, even the weary Berethor had the energy to notice the greatness of the mere outpost.  He could only imagine what the capital of Rivendell itself would look like. As they passed through the outer breaches, they entered a great yard perimetered by stone, windowed walls and further above, elves patrolled the high outer  walls.  They crossed the yard, approaching a door.  Berethor could not tell whether it was the morning sun or the power of the elves but something warmed his bones.  As they entered, Berethor gasped at the vast corridors, this place was much larger than even he first presumed.  Still silent, he followed down the corridor.

            "Get some rest now Gondorian, we shall talk later."  Berethor did not protest, he had been deprived of rest for almost 2 days now and was glad to sleep under a roof. She left Berethor in a small room with nothing inside but a small bed and an empty chest in the corner. Berethor took off his light armour and the rest off his clothes to lie down on the bed, the mattress was very comfy and Berethor sighed with great relief. He tried to piece together the events during the night but quickly fell asleep.

            Not long past midday Berethor awoke. He sat up to find new armour in place of his old suit.  He sat at the edge of the bed examining his new attire.  It was armour, worn by the rangers of Gondor but of distinctly Elven craft.  It fit perfectly to his surprise and feeling refreshed, he left the room and made his way down the corridor that followed. Looking out of the window he noticed the outpost was heavily guarded, particularly at the rear, facing the mountain.  An elven lady came from the opposite direction and greeted him with a smile.  "Come, you must be hungry", she assumed.  Berethor nodded eagerly.

            Berethor was shown to a large table where he sat in front of a hearty meal.  He scoffed down his food, putting more in his mouth before he had swallowed the last.  He had not had good food since his time at the inn on Greenway and _this_ was even better.   <The Elves are a truly advanced race,> he thought chewing on the last few morsels on his plate.  After finishing his food, Berethor took a large gulp of the golden brew in the deep bowl beside his plate and then sat back in his chair and sighed.  Then Idrial entered the room and went over to sit with Berethor.  He looked at her and then remembered why he was here.  "Once again, I must thank you, I am in your debt."

"You were lucky to cross my path. What brings you to Arnor, friend?"

Berethor felt compelled to speak openly to the elf, but he did not know where the feeling came from.  Perhaps her eyes, deep wells full of beauty and the wisdom of many an age.

"I am going to Rivendell in search of Boromir of Gondor, he set out to from Minis Tirith many months ago seeking council from Lord Elrond.  My company and I aimed to make for the Gap of Rohan… " Berethor looked away.  "But we were ambushed… by Orcs…" His face filled with anger.  "Orcs! Orcs roam freely across the West Emnet of Rohan." He slammed his fist on the table.

"Strange things are at work here in Arnor, not even the Elves can stop the evil that spreads from the east." Idrial sat back.  Berethor spoke of his long search for Rivendell and his meeting with the ranger. 

"You have come a long way," she said smiling. Then Idrial paused for a moment. "I have been searching for many days for some of my kindred who may have been driven from our borders by the enemy.  I would take you to Rivendell but I must finish my task."

 "I will aid you", Berethor replied quickly. "In honour of my debt." <That was funny,> he thought, <I don't remember giving my tongue leave to speak.>

"You have your own task ahead of you, you may rest here for as long as you wish."

"Please, let me assist you, I owe you that much." He thought of his task, but the desire to repay the elf burned ever greater within him.

"Very well then, and then we shall go to Rivendell," she stands up. "We shall take provisions and journey up the mountain, it is possible they fled there…"  Berethor nodded. "…but we shall begin tomorrow, by nightfall that mountain will be swarming with orcs and you must rest properly." With that they parted.


	5. Chapter 4: Postponement of his quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

    The next morning, they quickly left the outpost, heading for the high pass up the mountainside.   Yet again, countless thoughts wandered through his head.  He thought of his home in Minas Tirith, his wife, and child.  How long had been now since he last seen them.  Many months, no doubt.  He thought about the families of his comrades who had set out with him.  The orcs in the west were far more fierce they, who come from Mordor, and how odd that they attacked in the blaring light of day.  Idrial was right, something strange _is_ happening in Westron.  Idrial.  The elf was truly mesmerizing.  Her tall, slender body seemed to project a radiant glow, fixing Berethor's eyes to her even when his mind as elsewhere.  What was he doing, heading into the mountains when he was so close to his destination.  But he could not turn back on his word now, she had saved his life, he could not abandon her in the wake of this treacherous task.

  The walk up the pass was long and tiresome, the air grew colder as they steadily climbed the foot of the mountain. "Why would the Elves come this way?" questioned Berethor as he was carefully watching his footing on the lose rock.

"They were attacked at the outpost, they may have had no other choice." Idrial walked up the slope with ease and no discomfort much to the envy of Berethor who new the hard part had yet to come.  One rarely comes across a path that leads high into the Misty Mountains let alone survives it.

            Slowly but surely, the slope grew steeper and after a few hours, Berethor now had to clamber up the rocks.  He stumbled and fell on the cold, brittle stone. Looking back at the pebbles and small stones tumbling down the mountainside, he saw the outpost, which now was very small to his eyes.  He got up and using his hands, rushed up the steep slope, slipping as he went. "Come my friend, the journey is long and we must not tarry." Idrial held out her hand to the tired and frustrated Gondorian.  He nearly lost himself as he met her grey eyes.  After a brief second or two, he blinked back to reality and grabbed the hand, hauling himself up alongside her.  She still hiked effortlessly with the superb balance.  Her steps were light, not even disturbing rock and stones that would roll with a slight blow from the wind.  <Extraordinary> Berethor thought.  The elves were more skilled than even folklore told.  They had travelled some distance now and began to make there way through gaps between large boulders, climbing as they went, deeper and deeper into the mountain, until the sky eventually disappeared behind the enormous heights of the rocks.  

   


A day had passed as they ventured in the deep chasms. Sunlight struggled to find a way through the maze of jagged rock and in this labyrinth, they eventually came to a dead end.  Berethor groaned, "What now, my lady?"  Idrial ignored him.  She was taking a length of rope from her sack whilst staring high up the rocks.  Berethor looked up, <hopeless> he thought. Idrial began to tie a noose, still staring up atop the rock.  Berethor now intrigued, silently watched her as a student would a teacher. Then she launched her rope high up into the air and to Berethor's amazement, the noose caught hold at the top of the wall.  With two strong tugs of the rope, Idrial started to climb up and Berethor, dumbfounded, followed.

            Finally reaching the top of the wall, he threw himself over and got to his feet.  The ground was quite level up here.  He scanned the area and spotted Idrial knelt behind a rock.  She looked at him and signalled to come over. Berethor scurried to her position, keeping quite low to the ground and peered over rock to see a man lay on the floor.  Dead or unconscious, Berethor could not tell.  He went to get up but Idrial placed her hand on his shoulder, looking over at the wild wargs approaching the man from the left.  Wargs were dangerous creatures, much like wolves but bigger and much stronger.  Berethor looked over, he gripped the hilt of his sword.  "Wait", Idrial whispered.  The 2 wargs continued their advance slowly towards the helpless man, growling eagerly as if lucky, to find such a prize lying on their doorstep.  "I cannot just watch this!"

"Wait!"  Berethor jumped over the rock and drew his sword. The wargs saw him and instinctively charged, Idrial jumped out sword in hand.  Suddenly the man who appeared dead jumped to his feet and quickly drew his sword, which he plunged into the head of the nearest warg.  Idrial dived out of the way the second charging warg as Berethor, with a powerful low swing, struck the creatures front legs.  The warg fell, toppling over and crashed into a rock and Idrial rushed over, quickly putting an end to its life.

"We thought you were in danger," claimed Berethor, puzzled as he turned to the man.  The man was wearing the clothes of a ranger, from the north.  Berethor was beginning to learn that these rangers were deadly skilled.  And they were. Skilled, versatile warriors, wielding both blade and bow equally as deadly.  They were also wise in the lore of nature and could survive in the wild for years on end if need be.  

"I was hunting", he said putting away his sword.

"A ranger," Berethor stated.  

The man nodded.  "And what are you doing here in the mountains?"  

Idrial stepped in. "We are searching for a band of Elves that may have fled this way."

"I can assure you there are no elves around here, I have been in the mountains for days.  I was separated from a friend but 3 weeks ago when we were attacked by orcs."

"Orcs", snarled Berethor.

"My name is Elogast, thank you for… saving me." A subtle smile appeared upon his face but quickly turned to frown. "You cannot linger here, many wargs sleep during the day but they hunt in packs at night."

"Our search is over here now." Idrial then turned to Berethor. "We must make for lower ground." Then back to Elogast who was already leaving.  "I must go now to the west gate of Moria, my friend will be waiting for me."

"We shall come with you, my kindred may have gone that way back down the mountain." Elogast looked uncertain, Berethor broke in, "No… that is too far adrift Rivendell. What of Boromir?"

"To go back the way we came would surely take as long.  Do not worry, my friend.  Once we're off the mountain, we will head that way", Idrial assured him.

"I don't know", Elogast said turning away.

"We must", Idrial replied.

"You are fine but how can I trust this man?"  Berethor was shocked. "Trust me!?"

"Who speaks for him?"

"I speak f…"

"The Lady of Light, Galadriel", Idrial proclaimed.  Elogast paused, Berethor was not impressed though silent.

"Well that's good enough for me," the ranger looked to the sky.  "Let us go now, we have wasted enough time."


	6. Chapter 5: The search for Boromir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

Nightfall had comfortably settled in as Idrial, Berethor and Elogast neared the bottom of the mountain. "Why must you go to Moria?" asked Idrial.

"My friend I spoke is a dwarf, we were sent months ago from the Lonely Mountain to acquire reinforcments and aid Moria, which is now overrun by the goblin armies."

"Evil is everywhere", Idrial replied shaking her head solemnly.  The trees now began to thicken and stone turned to dirt.  Idrial let out a sigh of relief.  "We have company."  The two men looked but saw nothing.  Then a voice came from above.  "Greetings my lady, we heard news of your journey into the mountains, that was most unwise."

"I know Thoneluil but I had searched everywhere." 

The elf-scout smiled.  "I bring word from Lord Elrond, the surviving Elves are now safe.  You…"  Berethor, alarmed to hear the elf-king's name, interrupted. "Elrond.  What word of Boromir?"  The elf-scout looked straight at Berethor but stayed silent, then began to speak in elvish-tongue to Idrial.  She turned to Berethor and Elogast.  "Wait here." She climbed up the tree to speak with the elf.

"What's going on?" asked Elogast.

"I have no idea", replied Berethor sternly, keeping his eyes fixed up in the tree.  Berethor and Elogast did not speak, they stood, listening to the magical language of the elves.  Moments later the elf-scout departed and Idrial came down. "Boromir now journeys to Moria." 

Berethor scoffed. "You are mistaken, my lady, Boromir of Gondor is no fool."

"He does and he must", replied Idrial. Berethor turned to Elogast.  "You will show me the way to Moria." Idrial broke in, "You cannot follow Boromir."

"That is my task!"

"You cannot..."

"Your task is now complete my Lady, once again I thank you but I must now leave you."

"I shall go with you. You do not know where they go from Moria."

"You two have both turned to madness." Elogast laughed dryly.  "Moria is overrun, not just with goblins but orcs and trolls an…" Elogast stepped in closer to the two and his voice lowered.  "…there is evil there that does not sleep."  There was a short silence. Berethor put his hand on Elogast's shoulder. "I am Berethor of the Citadel Tower Guard, defender of the white tree… that is my task."

Elogast bowed his head.  "Very well then I shall lead you through Moria as best I can", said Elogast in reluctance, but great respect. "I warn you though, the path will be perilous."  Berethor took no heed to the comment.

"We can rest safely tonight.  At a nearby shelter of my people."

Elogast smiled. "Ah, elven hospitality is very much welcome after many nights in the mountains," he said, lightening the mood slightly. Elogast and Berethor followed Idrial to the shelter where they filled their stomachs and sat by the fire, except for Idrial who was talking away from the others with the elf-scout captain, Thoneluil, who had much to tell.

"So, do you have a name, Gondorian?" Elogast asked as he lay on his back, staring through the tops of the trees at the midnight sky.

"Berethor." He sat with his back to a tree, with one arm resting on his bent knee.

"And what brings you and this, Boromir to the west?"

Berehtor scowled. "Rangers are a curious lot."

Elogast chuckled. "You have _met_ one of my kin?"

Berethor nodded. "At the Greenway inn.  He showed me the way to these lands."

Elogast turned on his side, leaning on his elbow to face the man.  "Did he give you his name?"

"No," Berethor then added, "But he spoke of his captain, Strider.  He said that if I see him, to tell him that his brother-in-arms sends all duty and affection."

Elogast smiled. "Halbarad.  He is an honourable man.  I remember when he was but a young man, begging his father to go on our patrols.  He is a credit to our race."

"And all too quick to assume."

"Halbarad does not assume, my friend."  <You are probably right,> thought Berethor.  The man seemed to be wise, and the wise rarely guess out of turn.

"Be sure to give him my thanks when you next meet." Berethor said, quickly ending the subject. "Although I fear my search was in vain."

"If Boromir travels through Moria, we shall find him." Elogast reassured.

   


            The next day, once everyone was awake, they had breakfast and set out to the gate of Moria with new purpose.  Elogast awoke last after a long awaited rest he sorely needed.  Idrial however, did not sleep at all.  Four days journey lay between the party and the Moria Gate.

  "So Idrial…" began Berethor "…Why must Boromir go through the mines of Moria?"

"Kingdom of Moria", Elogast stated in quick return.  Berethor took no notice.  

"He goes with company to warn Rohan and Gondor of Sauron's assault on Middle Earth.  In Mordor, Sauron is breeding an army to destroy the world of Men."

Berethor stopped but Idrial kept walking. "You know this? Who is with him?"

Idrial was hesitant to reply. "The one you call Mithrandir…"

"Gandalf. It has been long since I last heard his name", Elogast said surprised.

"Aragorn…"

Elogast had to interrupt again. "Aragorn is with them?"  Idrial started to walk faster, Berethor and Elogast now on either side.  The she-elf took time to answer, "Yes, Legolas of my kin, a dwarf and four hobbits."

"Why the m…why Moria?" Berethor was overwhelmed with these tidings of war and everything else that had happened since the first day October last year, when he said goodbye to his wife and child. "Why not go to the Gap of Rohan?"

"Saruman the White has betrayed all that is good and now from Isenguard, he drives the iron fist of the Orc through Rohan."

"How much more do you know of this?" asked Elogast.

"Nothing more." 

"Indeed."  Everyone was now subdued in thought as they trekked on the through the woods and plains of Arnor, southbound alongside the mountain.

            

           They had only rested once since they set out and few words were exchanged along the whole journey to Hollin, where west gate of Moria lay.  They made their way down the slopes to the narrow path that ran between the lake and the foot of the mountain.  "Someone is there", claimed Idrial.

"Hadhod", said Elogast with relief.  He had forgot about his friend who was waiting for him.  As they approached, the dwarf rose to his feet, (which wasn't very high.)

"Elogast!" Hadhod cheered. "You're late laddie." He then looked at Berethor and Idrial.  "Reinforcements… hmph."  Elegost looked in horror at the Moria Gate that had caved in.  

"Is that the gate?" asked Berethor.

" _Was_ the gate", Hadhod replied. "I arrived here today and found the entrance in ruin, it must have collapsed."

"And not long ago", Elogast finished as he surveyed the rubble and floor before it. "Aragorn must have come this way, the company were followed", his eyes followed from the rubble along floor, to the lake. "And whatever caused this has retreated back to the water _._ "

"Aragorn?" Hadhod muttered.

"What can we do now?" Berethor was concerned.

"What?" Hadhod did not know the intentions of the three.

"If we take the pass of Caradhras, we may make some distance and overtake the company as they leave the mountain." Idrial spoke of going over the mountain, which would save time and seemed like a good idea if it was not for the snowstorm that persisted high up in the mountains. Elogast looked grim. "That would be ill advised, if indeed, the White Wizard has betrayed us, he will be watching that path." He turned to Hadhod.  "Hadhod, I have bound myself to these people, they seek passage to the other side of the mountains."

"Very well, we must cross too and make for the bridge of Khazad-dum.  What word of Aragorn?"

"There is much to tell my friend", he then looked at Idrial who met his eyes, "and much to learn…" then back to Hadhod. "…but now is not the time, what path should we take?"

"I think we should go to Rivendell and seek council from Lord Elrond", Idrial answered.

"That would be wise", Elogast said.

Berethor recoiled. "We will lose many days to track back now…"

"… and I'am certain by now, Balin's forces will be stretched to their very limits.  We cannot abandon them." Hadhod finished.

"But what can we do, we have no reinforcements.  We cannot help." Elogast returned.  Everyone argued their case, scarcely listening to eachother and a decision finally came when Idrial broke in.  "Evil spreads over Middle Earth, the Dwarves fight for their lives, Men and Elves too, we cannot win this war through strength alone. Our chance for survival is thin, we must put aside our individual needs and concentrate on the survival of good. Come to Rivendell, there much more you should know about this war."

Under Berethor's stern exterior, he panicked silently.  He had return to Minas Tirith with Boromir.  Was it really hopeless.  With the rest of them going to Rivendell, he had no way to track Boromir, and if he _did_ survive the dangerous path that was the Gap of Rohan, he would many weeks-or months- behind Boromir, wherever they were going.  His many thoughts laboured his indecision.  He had no choice, he must go with his new found companions northbound alongside the mountain.


	7. Chapter 6: Backtracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

     Trudging through wet dirt and bristly bushes, a dead silence was among the party.  Berethor felt safer in the midst of his new found comrades but pondered – as did all of them – about what Idrial meant the other day.  _There is much you should know about this war_.   <What does Boromir have to do with this?  And why did he come to this part of Middle Earth anyhow?> Lord Denethor had failed to give any detail about this task to he and his regiment, bar the destination.  Yet, the faithful soldiers of Gondor never hesitated to answer the challenge and do their Lord's will, nor question the sparse information given to them.  His task could never be completed now.  He wondered how his return to the white city would fair, if Boromir was not standing there beside his father when he returned. The trees grew thick as they moved deeper into the woodland before them, then sounds arose from the near distance.  Idrial head cocked up to the sound.  Then more.  There was no mistake this time, they could hear the war cries of orcs. Idrial, Elogast and Berethor drew swords and Hadhod readied his axe.  The sounds grew louder.  "They can smell us", stated Elogast.  

"Let them come", snarled Berethor. The party stopped as the bushes ahead rustled and the orcs jumped out ten yards away.  The small battalion charged at the party.  "Stand fast!" Berethor shouted. The fight broke out with Berethor parrying a wild slash from the first orc and following up with a thrust into the orcs chest. Hadhod swung his axe wildly connecting blows to the mid section of orcs while Idrial and Elogast made sword play themselves too, slaying the beasts at a rapid rate.  The odds were four to one at least but the mountain orcs, although excelling in strength, could not match the intelligence of the four and their skill was fatally poor.  The party found themselves backed against each other fighting for their lives.  There was no room to manoeuvre but they managed to parry the heavy attacks from the frenzied creatures.  Dead orcs lay surrounding the group while the rest of the orcs trampled over them to get to the party.  Berethor began to push forward, away from the others, dodging and hacking down his enemy.  He parried another attack, whirling his sword high in a singing arc, cleaving an orcs head asunder.  Now separated from the rest, he quickly checked his rear guard when an orc crashed into him, bringing him to the ground and dropping his sword. "Berethor!", Elogast called out. He tried to get to him but was occupied with the seemingly endless barrage of beasts.  The orc raised up and punched Berethor in the face, stunning him.  Before the orc could do more, Idrial ran over and dived on the orc, stabbing the creature in the neck.   Berethor, a little groggy, quickly got up to see Elogast and Hadhod fighting off the remaining orcs as they fled back to toward the mountain.  Elogast turned back toward Idrial and Berethor, "Is everyone alright?"

Berethor nodded, then looked down at Elogast's leg. "Your wounded."

Elogast dismissed the statement. "A scratch is all." Hadhod holstered his axe and examined the dead. He spat, "Mountain orcs."

"We must move on quickly", stated Idrial who was staring through the trees, deep into the forest.  The rest of them gathered round her. "We will rest soon, but not here."  With that they began once again on their path through the forest, their heads looking vigilantly in all directions.  "We should make for the road, away from the roots of the mountains", Hadhod stated.  

Idrial shook her head.  "No, we cannot.  The Nazgul patrol the roads of Arnor, we must stay off the road." Things were now making sense to Elogast who stayed silent as they trudged through the dirt and bushes. The war, Aragorn and his company, and now the Nazgul.  Though he was still uncertain, he began to suspect the magnitude of the situation.  As the evening sky formed above, Idrial, who was ahead of the others turned to face them. "We will rest here tonight."

"We have not travelled far, let us go on." Hadhod challenged.

"We have not slept for three days, my friend." Elogast claimed. Berethor did not protest, he, Elogast and Idrial were spent.  And so they settled down in an area nearby to eat. The rations weren't much though, just a bit of bread, a little meat and some dried fruit.  There was no fire, for they did not want to alert any unwelcome attention.  As they ate, Hadhod's curiosity got the better of him.  "So war comes to all then eh?" he said still finishing what was in his mouth.  Idrial did not speak.  Berethor was concentrating on his food, he knew as little as Hadhod.  "Yes my friend, a war has begun, all evil has been summoned to Sauron's will.  I believe this war will end the third age." Elogast answered.  Hadhod raised his eyebrows.  Idrial finally spoke. "Lord Elrond will tell all in due course. Now you must get some sleep, I will go on first watch."

"But my Lady, you must rest also", claimed Berethor, who felt it his duty to protect the she-elf.  Idrial had assumed a role of leadership since travelling from the Moria Gate.  She felt somewhat responsible for the group, being the one who knew the most about the past and unforeseen events.  "I will take first watch and we will set off at first light."  With that, Berethor shuffled into the roots of the large tree next him. He sat, leaning against the tree with his knees tucked to his chest and fell asleep quite quickly.  Elogast simply lay where he was sat with his back facing the others and his cloak wrapped tight around him.  Hadhod did not sleep, <she is so tired she can barely stand.> he thought as he watched her, leaning against tree, staring into the darkness. <No, they shall sleep safe tonight while Hadhod is here.>  Hadhod had been on many adventures with Elogast above ground and although he had grown more tolerant of the creatures that kept the land, not all bitterness towards elves had left his bones.  Idrial was aware that Hadhod was watching her but she did not show it.  She noticed a strange vibe from Elogast, he was lay very still, his breathing was low and regular but his energy did not speak of sleep. She stretched her senses as far as the forest would allow, listening to the sounds of nights creatures as they scurried about in the near distance and the song of the trees.  She felt at home in this environment, not like Lothlorien.  She was born and grew up in Lothlorien but long ago, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel came from the Undying Lands across the sea to govern the land and when they arrived, Galadriel used her magic to mute the seasons of the forest.  No trees ever died, and no new ones ever grew.  Many of the elves did not like this including Idrial, who made regular visits to the outer reaches of Lorien Forest where the trees were untouched by Galadriels power.  Then she decided to serve Galadriel directly so she could travel the lands of Middle-Earth and experience death and rebirth once again.  She thought about what Elogast had said. _A war to end the third age_. It was true, and after the elves would depart from Middle-Earth and sail to the undying lands.   <Elrond will not tell them everything> she thought, <The fellowship's quest is utterly dependent on secrecy.> She had a feeling that her and the others would have a major role to play in the war, in some shape or form.

  Hours had now passed and Idrial grew evermore weary but her thoughts refrained her from going to sleep.  Hadhod was still awake and had not moved an inch, he was about to offer Idrial some rest when Elogast got up and walked over to Idrial, not noticing Hadhod.  "You were not asleep." Idrial said in more statement than question. "Yes my Lady, not all is as it seems, is it", Elogast shot back.  Idrial's stomach turned, "I, I do not follow…"

"Indeed." He muttered and then added.  "Listen, it is no secret in the north that Isildur's Bane has  been found." Idrial was dumbfounded. "Does this have anything to do with the war, or Aragorn?"  Idrial could not speak. Berethor stirred. "Settle down Elogast." Elogast turned around to see Hadhod sat down with his back to a rock, staring at him.  "Im sure if Idrial could tell you more, she would."  Idrial, was now even more surprised, she had been rescued by the most unlikely of creatures.  Hadhod too had been pondering on the knowledge he had recently heard. He had also noticed Idrials attempts to diffuse any talk of the matters at hand. "When we get to Rivendell we can discuss this properly.  Come now my Lady, you need your rest. I will stand guard for the remainder of the night."  Idrial smiled in appreciation and lay down to sleep, she now felt relieved, not needing to hide anything else and that relief granted her sleep.  Elogast knew Aragorn and his bloodline, he wondered if it as time, the time his whole race had been waiting for, time for the king to reclaim the throne of Gondor.  He walked back over to his spot, staring at Hadhod suspiciously.  Calm is not at the top of the fiery dwarf's qualities.  <He must know something.> he thought. <Or has seen something I have not.> He shook his mind of the thoughts and settled down to sleep.

   


            "I can smell rain in the air."  Berethor looked up at the sky, Elogast was right, the clouds were beginning to form.  It was only right, he thought, rain had not come often on their journey and their luck could not hold out long.  He looked at Idrial who was leading the party over the long, barren field.  "Yes," she replied.  "A small storm is brewing, it will arrive before the day is out."  The sun shined through the cloud in the hours that preceded noon and the trees on horizon remained ever-distant as they marched at pace.  Their departure in the morning was swift.  Not a moment later than Hadhod had roused them from sleep, they had departed swiftly, missing breakfast.  Idrial had wanted them to them to reach the border of Hallon before they ate, so she could plan the next week properly.

            Idrial called a halt as the sun dissappered behind the dark clouds.  The late afternoon had settled in and they sat down on the rocks in the midst of trees, pulling food from their packs to eat.  Idrial had gone off to scout ahead for a suitable place to camp.  "How does the white city fair?" asked Hadhod.  Berethor was surprised to hear the dwarf speak of his home but answered in any case.  "She holds," he said in remembrance.  "And remains strong enough to answer the threat of Mordor."

The dwarf sighed.  "Minas Tirith is a beautiful place. It has been long since I set my eyes on her."

"It seems long since I myself, last set eyes on her magnificence," Berethor agreed, stuffing the last of his bread into his mouth.  He took a moment to think of his home, then stood up.  "Come we must continue."  With a grunt, Elogast and Hadhod got to their feet and they carried on through the wood.  "Maybe one day, together we could return the white city," said Elogast.

Berethor smiled.  "We will, my friend."

After an hour or so, they were greeted by Idrial.  "There is a cave, north and east of here, no more than 2 miles away.  We should make it before dark."  The news was greeted by audible sighs of relief and gratitude.  And so, they resumed their strong pace through the bushes and trees with purpose.  Idrial ate while they walked.  The darkness came as swiftly as the rain.  Soon they were trudging through the wet mud under the heavy shower of the storm, their cloaks wrapped tight about them.  A flash of lightning followed closely by a crack of thunder made Berethor uncomfortable as he walked with his back hunched trying to hold his cloak to him with both hands, fighting against the gusts of southerly winds.  "That lightning struck too close for my liking," Hadhod exclaimed.  Elogast glanced at him in acknowledgement.  He was used to these conditions but the second crack of thunder and lightning did not make him feel any easier.  "We are close," shouted Idrial as she look back a her companions, but most of the sound was stole away by the wind and it sounded no more than a whisper to the rest of them.  They nodded simultaneously, their eyes squinting at her under their hoods.  Not long after, they had found their refuge.  Luckily, there was a little wood in the cave, but not nearly enough for a fire.  Hadhod volunteered to find more wood but Idrial intervened.  "No, I will be quicker."

"As you wish, my lady," Hadhod said compliantly but slighty offended.  So Berethor and Hadhod prepared some cloths and wool as makeshift beds while Elogast arranged the small amount of wood as a base for the fire.  Elogast offered first watch and Berethor called the second.  "Finally we can roast our meat," claimed Hadhod, rubbing his hands, gleefully.  Idrial returned with wood.   She put the wood down and said, "it is quite damp, but the driest I could find."  Elogast felt the wood and looked impressed. "No no, this will be more than effective."

            In a few minutes a modest fire was burning and the four sat, surrounding it, and eating their food to the sound of the raging storm outside.  Once Berethor had finished he looked at Elogast.  "Tell me more of your race," he asked.  Elogast paused for a moment to finish his what was in his mouth.  "Well," he began and Idrial and Hadhod sat, listening although they already knew much about his people.  "The Dunedain are descendants of the Numenor race, the kings of Men." Berethor nodded in indicationof his knowledge of Numenor.  "My people live in villages in the very North and we dedicate our lives to protecting Arnor from evil."  Berethor looked in great respect at his companion, eager to learn more.  "But there are few of us," Elogast added gravely. "And we spread thinly and can barely contain the innocent peoples of our land.  Our chieftain, Aragorn…"  Idrial stopped him.  "This is not the time or the place.  We must wait until Rivendell, where we are not in fear of evil spies."  

Elogast shook his head. "If Aragorn travels with the… with the company he has chosen, then he will be known to Sauron in due time.  He is a strong man, we cannot fear for his safety anymore."  He turned back to Berethor, who looked confused.  "Aragorn is son of Arathorn, and heir to the throne of Gondor."  A look of sheer joy and suprise filled Berethor's face and he looked up to the ceiling of the cave.

"Praise the Valar, our king lives," he said quietly ecstatic.  He looked back at Elogast.  "My people's generations have waited many long years for this news.  But there is so much I do not understand, why…"

"You must understand," Elogast interrupted. "That there are many questions that cannot be answered at this time, and in Rivendell we will speak of all we know.  But for now, that is all I can tell you of him."

            After a more conversation about the ways of elves, gondorians and dwarves, they decided to settle down to sleep.  "Elogast," Berethor said.  "Let me take first watch, I need time to think."  Elogast nodded and retreated to his sleeping spot by the fire.   Berethor sat against the wall of cave close to the entrance, scanning the perimeter of the area around them.  The trees shook heavily in the winds, but the rain had settled to a light shower.  He thought of the news he had just heard, of his long-awaited king.  He had learned so much in his journey from Minas Tirith, but this he did not expect.  For generations in his kingdom, they had been taught of Isildur and the breaking in the line of kings.  They still guarded the white tree, which stood in the courtyard outside the citadel, hoping one day he would return and the tree of kings would flower once again.  Doubts crossed his mind, why would their king abandon them to live as a mere ranger in the north.  To protect the lives of folk other than his own people.  Long had a shadow of gloom lay over Gondor,  the kingless kingdom that was under constant attack from evil creatures in seemingly unlimited numbers.  Creatures that did not fear death, that only knew what it was to kill another man.  How could he leave them under rule of mere stewards, surely he could restore Gondor to it's greatness once again.   Berethor let out a sigh of sorrow and a crack of thunder responded.  He jolted suddenly and realised he had been too immersed in his thoughts to carry out his task of watchman.  He pushed his feelings to the back of mind and looked around the dark wood.  

The time had passed rather quickly and the storm was dying down to the quiet sound of the wind, under which, he could hear the sounds of the small creatures rustling in the forest and the dwarf, snoring loudly from behind him.  A small rush of wind flew into the cave.  He tucked his knees to his chest and threw his cloak over them.  His watch would be over soon, he thought.  The crackle and pop of the fire made him look over to his companions who slept soundly in the warmth of the fire.  He had quickly grown a liking to all of them, more so the elf.  He, in her felt a companionship he had not felt since before the attack at the Gap of Rohan.  Them huge orcs had slaughtered his men when they unexpectedly attack in the broad daylight.  He silently cursed the foul creatures as he got up and walked over to where Elogast was sleeping.  He roused him by shaking gently at his shoulder.  "It is time."

"I see the storm has died," he said, fully awake.  It was amazing how quickly he awoke from sleep with no visible grogginess.  "Be free from your concerns and worries in the haven of sleep, my friend."  Berethor smiled at his orders and nodded.


	8. Chapter 7: The mysteries unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the path of Berethor (OC), soldier of Gondor and how he and his comrades played their part in the War of the Ring leading up to battle of Erebor. Originally wrote for my family to explain a few other bits in the history of Middle-earth. Comments are most welcome, be critical if you dont mind.

<I have a wife,> Berethor silently scolded himself, averting his eyes from Idrial, who was singing as they strolled through the forest.  Few branches grew on tall, thin trees save for the thick, green treetops and the trunks were a rich brown colour, the forest floor was deep green, riddled with lush bushes and many kinds of plants and flowers, varying dramatically in colour.  Their lightened and there minds rested now the danger had passed, for now.

  Three days earlier, they spotted a small rabble of orcs making their way to the mountains and decided to overtake and slaughter them.  This proved to be fairly easy because of few numbers.  Elogast and Idrial, stealthed ahead of them whilst Berethor and Hadhod took the orc's rear.  As the creatures reached the foot of the mountain, the ranger and she-elf assaulted them, catching the orcs totally off guard.  Berethor met their rear soon after, with Hadhod close behind and together, the party made short work of the disgusting rabble.

  Elogast silently appreciated the musical voice that was Idrial's while Hadhod simply scanned the area, seemingly not intrested the song.  Then, Idrial's voice was joined by many, unseen voices and the harmony continued;

   
 _A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_  
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, si nef aearon!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
o menel palan-díriel  
le nallon sí di'nguruthos,  
A tiro nin, Fanuilos  
   


Berehtor spoke quietly to Elogast, "What do they sing of?"

"Of an elf that passed over the sea, at the beginning of the third age when the high elves knew that their time grew short. The fading of the elves had began, to make way for the time of  Men, she was one of the first to foresee this.  And when her husband died in battle, she fell into grief and sailed over the sea to the Undying Lands."  Berethor looked around at the tops of the trees, seeing no one in sight, but the song flowed like a soft breeze all about him.  Hadhod who was bringing up the rear, stopped for a second as the other voices joined in.  He looked around, finding it difficult to appreciate the beauty of the music as a nervous feeling crept in his bones, he was powerless in this realm, he could feel it and it he did not like it.

   After the singing ceased, an hour later they had reached their coveted destination.  As they stepped through the gate, Berethor and Hadhod gaped in awe at the beautiful décor of the buildings before them. They had been magnificently designed and intentionally built into the natural landscape of the forest.  Elogast smiled as if happy to be with people that had not experienced this site of splendour before.  They were greeted at the entrance of the palace by two young looking elves, who smiled and bowed their heads.  Berethor assumed they were of royal blood, for their elegant posture and graceful faces, but Berethor would have assumed this about any elf for that matter.  "Greetings mellon-nim," the taller one directed to Idrial and then the two of them nodded courteously to the others, who all replied with bowed heads except for Hadhod who nodded curtly. To this, the two elf-men ignored.  "Elladan, Elrohir, it is good to see you again, and an honour," Idrial said, smiling.

"Our father is expecting you," the shorter one then added. "You have been wise to return, undivided for it is in our unity, is our strength."

Elladan and Elrohir were the twin sons of Lord Elrond, though they were more than four thousand years old and extremely wise, they still carried their youthful mannerisms and attitude, much because of their involvement in Aragorn's life when he was just a little boy.  They were like big brothers to Estel (Aragorn) when he was taken to Rivendell as a baby to keep him from for long reach of Sauron and taught the young heir much about battle and other, less vicious things.  The twins were very skilled in swordsmanship and of course with bow. They patrolled Arnor often with the Dunedain and travelled over the Northern lands many a time, from Mithlond in far west to Mirkwood and beyond, in the east.  One was seldom seen without the other.

            Berethor, Elogast and Hadhod were left on the balconies of the palace that overlooked the north of the realm.  Berethor stood, leaning his weight on his hands that rested on the wall in front, taking in the beautiful sites.  The houses intertwined with the trees that stood tremendously tall and the roofs of the larger buildings under the waterfall, were shaped to carry the water to the river. It was truly extraordinary.  Elogast came to stand beside him.  "It is quite indeed a site to be marvelled," he said looking on into the distance.  Berethor looked at him and nodded, "Truly," then turned back to look once again upon the beauty, for he knew that he would probably never see it again.  "It is a pity the dwarf does not enjoy it so."  Indicated over to Hadhod who stood alone, bouncing his weight ever so slightly form heel to heel.  "I suppose he would prefer to be with his people?" Berethor mused.  Elogast nodded, "He does not like it here."  Hadhod sensed his companions watching him and turned to walk over to them.

"How are you, my friend?" Elogast asked.  Hadhod shifted uncomfortably, "I am good," he looked over the balcony and added, "And much better once we leave this place."  Berethor laughed, growing more and more comfortable in the place as Hadhod's unease was more apparent.

            The party grew anxious as they heard no word from the Elrond or Idrial for rest of the night and the next day, they stayed close by to each other waiting to be enlightened on the situation afoot.  Eventually, a small council was called, of which, the whole party were invited.  Berethor walked up the stone steps, now ignoring the view of the city behind him.  He was looking at his feet one stepping in front of the other, thinking about what would be revealed at this meeting.  When he reached the plateau he looked around to see a half-circle of seats all facing Elrond's chair, Idrial and 4 other elves occupied a minority of chairs at the far end of the half-circle.  Berethor noticed that two of these elves were Elledan and Elrohir, Elrond's twin sons but the others he did not know, nevertheless, he took seat nearest the elves and Elogast and Hadhod followed.   The mood was dark and grim,  and there was a moment of silence as Elrond stood from his chair.  Berethor was focused as he waited for the half-elven lord to speak, whilst Hadhod leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the elves sat at the far end.  "You have been summoned here because of he great war that is advancing on the free peoples of Middle earth," Elrond began.  Berethor noticed the powerful, tone of authority that Elrond used, observing that he was an experienced leader of his people and very much used to leading meeting like this.  "Sauron's armies are moving into position, his puppet Saruman turns to strike Rohan whilst he himself gathers to strike Gondor.  Legions of Haradrim from the south are answering his call, the Corsairs of Umbar too.  Easterlings and the goblin armies move to strike the kingdoms of dwarves in the north.  Dol Guldor attacks the forests of Mirkwood and Lothlorien, the realm of Angmar attacks Rivendell, no place is safe in Middle earth.  We are outnumbered in strength and number."  The room was deadly silent as he paused everyone's attention, including the dwarf's was fixed on Elrond.  "We do however hold one advantage, one key victory… the only way we can overcome this terror soon to be unleashed is to destroy the One ring.  It has been found and as I speak, a fellowship travels in secret straight to the fires of Mt. Doom, the one place the ring can be destroyed.  All peoples of Middle earth are bound by this fate, this one doom and our survival solely depends fellowship's success."  Now a few murmers could be heard from within the listeners.  Hadhod whispered in Elogast ear, Berethor huffed and mumbled to himself, the elves whispered to each other also.  "But…"  Elrond resumed as everything went silent once again. "There will be great loss as the war will begin soon and to overcome the evil, we must be ready for the assault.  The Dwarves of Erebor, in the lonely mountain have little knowledge of forthcoming events and must be warned.  The easterling wil have crossed the river Carnen by noon tommorow and are heading straight for the mountains in great force.  I appoint this task to the company of Idrial, you will take the path of the high pass over the mountains and then down the Old Forest road through Mirkwood… but I warn you, Mirkwood is already under attack from the threat of Dol Guldor, and by the time you reach the Rhovanion, the war will be well underway.  But remember that time is against us and you must reach Erebor is swiftly as possible."  This was followed by a little more audible discussion.  Idrial stood up and walked over to her friends, greeting them with a forced smile.  "Are you ready for this task, my friends?"  There was no need of reply from Berethor who nodded with grit and determination, Hadhod growled. "My people need me, I am as ready as ever."  Elogast layed a hand on Hadhod shoulder as the little dwarf scowled at the floor, baring his teeth.  The elves departed except Idrial who stayed with the group to be briefed in more detail about the mission.

            Not long after they had left the meeting, Berethor found himself alone with Idrial, as they packed travelling provision for the journey.  "You look troubled," she observed.  Berethor sighed and then shook his head.  "It's nothing, we must do what must be done," he replied.  The elf closed her eyes and nodded before turning away to gather some sleeping packs from the chest, near the door.  "It's just…" Berethor began, giving in to his feelings.  "… Gondor is weak, the garrison of Osgiliath barely holds, Ithilien is empty, I cannot help but feel that Minas Tirith will take the brunt of the attack from Mordor.  My family… my people." He shook his head looking down to his feet, playing out the worst possible scenarios in head when Idrial came next to him, laying her hand on his shoulder, "Courage is the best defense we can have now, my friend…" He mustered up all his efforts to look her in the eye without despair on his face.  "… and hope is their for all, we may not see it now, but it is there."  Berethor nodded solemnly and they resumed their preparations.


End file.
